


Reflections

by M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Don't ever think you don't deserve the world kids, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, POV Female Character, Post-memory loss, Self-Esteem Issues, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 16:54:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12916191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng/pseuds/M1ssUnd3rst4nd1ng
Summary: As Donna Noble stands before the mirror in her wedding dress for the second (or third?) time, she ponders who she is and wonders about the changes that have come over her since the first time she was here.





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, its characters, settings, or events; all rights belong to the BBC and their respective creators.
> 
> Secondary Disclaimer: This work contains a viewpoint which I believe to be held by the POV character and is not one I personally hold. Donna Noble was brilliant and wonderful and, I personally think, beautiful, and no one missed that in her more than she did; any critiques of her character or appearance are based on Donna Noble's view of herself and do not reflect my opinions on Donna Noble or Catherine Tate, both of whom I adore and admire. I also think her view of her mother (and specifically, of her mother's view of her) is biased; I do not like her mother, but I do believe she cared for her daughter more than Donna realized and more than she was capable or allowed herself to express. 
> 
> This piece is based on my personal love and connection to Donna and a headcanon that the parts of her memories related to the Doctor still linger in her subconscious, but basically avoid the Doctor himself, similarly to what they've now done with the Doctor's memories of Clara, though she is less aware of it. I believe these things occasionally leak through, and I believe her wedding would be a big trigger for that.

 

 

 

_"Look at me, I will never pass for a perfect bride,_

_Or a perfect daughter._

_Can it be I'm not meant to play this part?_

_Now I see that if I were truly to be myself_

_I would break my family's heart._

_"Who is that girl I see_

_Staring straight back at me?_

_Why is my reflection someone I don't know?_

_Somehow I cannot hide_

_Who I am, though I've tried._

_When will my reflection show who I am inside?"_

 

_  
_ "Reflection," from _Mulan_

 

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Donna Noble stood ready to marry the man of her dreams, but as she stared at her reflection in the mirror, the doubts she had been stubbornly fighting off resurfaced.

He was the man of her dreams, but she could never be the woman of his.

Too old.

Too fat.

Too ugly.

Too flighty.

Too stupid.

Too loud.

Too obnoxious.

Too brash.

Too strong-willed.

( _"You're not special. You're not powerful. You're not connected. You're not clever. You're not important."_ )

_Too worthless._

She was a temp secretary from Chiswick with the most boring and pathetic life on earth who still dreamed far above what she could ever realistically accomplish. Her highest qualification was the ability to type a hundred words a minute. Everything else about her was a drawback.

And Sean . . . Sean Temple was perfect. Kind, attentive, handsome, well to do. Everything about him was a qualification and his biggest downfall was that he had the poor judgment to propose to her.

Nobody wanted her—not employers, not men, not her mother—why would he?

Who was she kidding? Was she missing something? Was this just a joke on her?

Could she ever honestly be good enough for anybody?

She'd been here before ( _twice?_ ) and it hadn't ended well. She may not have been able to remember exactly _how_ it had ended ( _"You're a stupid, fat, ugly cow. Of course I wasn't going to marry you!"_ ), but she knew—she just _knew_ —it was because she wasn't good enough for him ( _hadn't deserved them_ ). Any guy worth marrying knew she would never be a good wife. Except Sean didn't seem to have realized it yet.

Maybe she should just walk away, before either of them were hurt. Give him a chance to find someone good enough.

She could see her mother's reflection behind her in the mirror, eyeing her in the wedding dress. Pinched lips. Eyebrows drawn tight, down in disapproval then up in frustrated contempt. She didn't need that frown to know she wasn't a beautiful bride. ( _"You're not fooling anyone, mate." "They think I'm in drag!"_ )

She also didn't need to see it to know that it didn't change anything. She would never be able to please her mother, even now.

"Oh, you finally managed to catch one, did you, madam? And a decent one at that. Lucky girl. Honestly, I thought it would never happen. Now if you can just keep this one . . . I'm not holding my breath, though."

It sometimes felt like she was a cheap replacement for whoever was meant to be living this life. Sean's perfect bride. Her mother's perfect daughter.

And sometimes she felt like this life—this version of her—was a cheap replacement for who she was meant to be, too.

She had this _sense_ nowadays, that she was meant to be off doing something. Something important and exciting that she just couldn't put her finger on. And there was supposed to be someone else there, too, ( _always; forever; outside the bounds of time_ ). A mate ("A _mate, Donna, I want_ a _mate."_ ). Someone who was ( _is_ ) so proud of her. Someone who believed in her when no one else did, including herself. Someone who thought she was brilliant ( _"Oh, you are_ brilliant _!"_ ) and wonderful ( _"Molto bene!"_ ) and loved her just the way she was, even though he knew her better than anyone else. Someone who made her happy. Someone who made her a better version of herself ( _or brought out the better version that was always inside_ ).

She had the same sense told her that she was that _better version_ , had been and still was deep inside and could be again and maybe was already on her way.

As it did every time, the faint impression at the back of her mind of this mysterious friend ( _best friend_ ) and his version of Donna, she felt a surge of happy confidence. She stood a little taller, smiled a little brighter, laughed a little easier. And she wondered where that came from. Who was that shining, brilliant, confident woman who could take on the world ( _any world, the universe_ ) without backing down? ( _"Super-temp." "Donna Noble. Human. And every bit as important . . ."_ )

It frustrated her, knowing and not knowing this Donna. Slipping into an old role she couldn't remember wearing, but one that felt so comfortable, so familiar. Was this the real her, that she'd somehow forgotten? Or was the other one her and she was just having delusions of grandeur? Why didn't she know _her own self_? Why were there large ( _important, so important_ ) chunks of her life missing?

Why was she one Donna sometimes and the other other times? And why were there strange habits and mannerisms she didn't remember picking up, that somehow were associated with the warm, fuzzy, complete feeling of super-Donna?

When she made tea, for example: if she wasn't concentrating, she found herself making two cups sometimes, one for herself and another with quite a lot of sugar. Who was the other cup for? Super-Donna's mysterious friend with no face and no name, who was nothing more than a vague feeling?

And when she had picked out this wedding gown, she had insisted on pockets for some reason ( _"Pockets!"_ ). It had seemed important, though she couldn't have said why even to herself.

She'd taken to using the words "brilliant" and " _molto bene_ " recently instead of her customary "wizard" sometimes, and the French " _Allons-y_ " instead of plain English.

There was a particular shade of blue that made her feel happy and loved and content, that carried the impressions of _home_ and _safety_ and _adventure_ all at once.

She saw real people in history now, fascinating and multi-dimensional instead of facts and figures, living real lives and suffering real problems and dying real deaths ( _fire and smoke and ash and they're dying and they won't listen and she can't help and she can't breathe and no one should have to make this decision_ ). She thought about what they must have thought and felt living through this historical event or that. What their normal days were like.

She'd become deeply suspicious of numerous things: bees and pills and diet plans and beetles and strangers on the street who acted just a bit funny.

She dreamed of impossible things nightly ( _not impossible at all_ ).

She was still the same old Donna in the mirror, though, same gaudy red hair and shapeless fat and misaligned teeth and freckles. Same disappointment to everyone.

But she wasn't that on the inside. On the inside, she was beautiful and brilliant. She was strong and loyal and caring. She was fire and lightning and star dust. She was a conquering hero and a beloved savior.

Someday, people would look at her and that's what they would see first.

Someday, maybe she'd look at herself and see that first.

And maybe, Sean already did.


End file.
